Winterchild
by Sapphira Eleyne
Summary: Ianto Jones hide some secrets of his own. One day he's gone without a trace, but someone is on his track. Ready for anything, without mercy and determined to catch him.
1. Prologue

First of all I am German so this isn't easy for me. The last episode of season one was shown for the first time last week. So, if there is information about the characters in season two, I don't know them. If there should be some mistakes please feel free to tell me. Hopefully you'll enjoy my story and reviews are always welcome.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, but I really love to play with them :)

BTW I would like to thank the following persons: Helen – your difficult questions about the content and details manage to write a better story/ Michaela – your passion and belief in the story are a big support. Your wish is my command: Meiriona is for you! I know you really like the name. / RoadrunnerGER – your ideas are brilliant so everything fits in and your incentive is needed to capture my ideas on paper. *Ran an den Feind*/ And last, but not least alienstar07 for betareading, so the grammar is much better.

xXx

"The silence that is here

Is of the grave, and of the austere

But happy feelings of the dead.

It is not quiet – is not peace –

But something deeper far than these."

_**Wordsworth "Glen-Almain"**_

xXx

**Prologue**

As he did not have an umbrella, he sought refuge from the cloudburst under a big, copper beech. Grey rain swallowed the last light of the midday sun. It kept falling and falling, pattering on the streets and leaving large puddles. When the shower finally eased, the man continued his way to the graves. This was the only place where he could find peace. He sat down on a blue bench with peeling off paint. Here at the cemetery, the silence had its own sound. The sound of the city, the street noise, was locked out by the high, thick walls. The dark sandstones were already overgrown by wild ivy and moss. The air after the rain was cold in his lungs. Under the huge maple trees and copper beeches with dissipated crowns the pain faded away for a short moment and he found solace. Single raindrops glistened on the moss-covered tombstones. The man stood up and went to one of the graves. Slowly he let his finger trail along the engraved letters. There was nobody he knew, but the headstones told stories that took Ianto's mind off his worries. Returning to the bench he sat back down and got a sketch pad and a paint box out of his bag. Drawing allowed him to capture his different moods on paper and to give his pain a colour. For a long time he had abandoned painting and drawing. For too long.

Canary Wharf and its consequences had torn a deep black hole in his heart and often the pain threatened to overwhelm him. Curiosity had left him. He forgot to eat. At night he often ran through his apartment like a trapped animal in a cage when his nightmares became unbearable.

Ianto had loved Lisa, deep and dearly, but sometimes the loneliness was bigger than the love for someone who only existed in your memory.

Never Ianto would have dreamed that one day his love for her would be replaced by the love for someone else. When he first entered the cemetery, a week after Lisa's final death, the desire to draw came back. There were only his thoughts and pictures. At first his lines were hesitant and unsteady, but grew fast and stable. He slowly relaxed, his restlessness faded away and he became absorbed by the natural activity. The green-dark paintings of the cemetery wallpapered his bedroom. When he was awake at night and nightmares troubled Ianto, the paintings put his mind at ease and gave him some peace, but the memories of Lisa were still in his blood, buried deep within his heart.

Ianto looked at his watch and saw that it was time to return to his apartment. In half an hour, Meiriona would be home with his daughter and he had promised to eat with them. He often worked long and irregular times, so he rarely arrived home around the same time. Under these circumstances his little girl sometimes was unhappy. Ianto, though, could not decide to leave Torchwood Three. Despite the horrific things that had happened in the fateful night Lisa died he was unable to part from the organization and the people.

He remembered the last days when Jack looked at him with strange and intensive glances that made Ianto feel uneasy. Since they had met for the first time, he felt inevitably attracted by the Captain, but the worries about Lisa left no room for thoughts and feelings. Only in the wake of her death something new forced its way into his heart.

His eyes hurt, so he leaned back and closed them. Thoughts swirled through his mind like the cataracts of a wild river. Memories were knocked about by the waves and thrown on the land, where they forced their ways through his heart, painfully like the thorns of a rose. His inner self was a jungle, scary, confusing, and beautiful at the same time.

_Jack's bare, heated body against his skin, when they were wrapped in a warm blanket. The wonderful, smooth feeling of his skin as he held him in his strong arms. The blazing heat. Jack's gentle touches let him forget all of the pain. The feeling of the soft cotton sheets and the overwhelming scent of the Captain nearly left him stunned._

_Pattering rain. The scent of heat rose from the tar. It was a strong smell. The wind that blew gently through the room when he looked at his beautiful daughter reminded him of his mother. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen with her oval face with marked cheekbones, full lips, large brown eyes always sparkling with joy and dark red-brown curls. She didn't like the freckles on her nose and collarbones. He could always smell her violet shampoo. But there was also the smell of blood, scorched earth, the beautiful face cold like porcelain … lifeless._

Abruptly a siren startled him out of his reminiscence, but he quickly drifted into another memory.

"_Can I have kiss?"_

_Ianto looked over his shoulder, but his team mates were absorbed by their work. Jack approached only this way when they were alone._

"_Why?"_

_Jack was puzzled for a moment, not knowing whether to laugh or if he should be upset and moved away a bit. The Welshman noticed the hurt in his face and felt guilty immediately._

"_Because nothing comes from you, Ianto. You obey to all my orders, but I really don't know what's going on in your head. Do you want me or not?"_

_Tightness was building up in the young Welshman's chest and his brain stopped working._

"_I don't bite," whispered Jack and his lips came closer. Ianto was dizzy. Suddenly Jack's hands were on his shoulders and their lips met. Ianto slightly opened his mouth and the kiss became more intense, more demanding. Pleasant shivers ran through his body, but before he could completely lose his control, both were interrupted._

"_Jack, I think we found something," called Toshiko._

_Ianto backed off with a jerk. What was happening here? He seriously was about to fall in love with the Captain. This couldn't end well, only expecting pain and despair. Jack opened his mouth and wanted to say something, but once more Tosh called for him. He knew he missed the possibility to speak with the young man about their relationship._

_Gently Jack lay down his hands on Ianto's shoulders, so careful as if he was afraid to hurt him. Then he went away._

How could he have been so stupid to develop feelings for the Captain? He would never understand him. As always he had to do this alone and he wouldn't allow Torchwood to step in. Two times he had taken the risk and had never failed.

Slowly Ianto stood up and walked down the path between the graves. He felt lonely, lost and totally unstable. He cursed the loneliness, but it showed him a way to survive everything that happened. Outside, without the protection of the trees, it drizzled and the grey clouds fitted his mood perfectly. Grey had the same importance as red, blue or green. There's a shiny black grey, a milky grey, slate grey and mussel grey.

A lump formed in his throat, and from a tight, hard knot in his chest, a terrible pain spread through his body that he identified with horror as longing for Jack. Inwardly Ianto writhed. Desperately he tried to hold back his tears. His nose blocked and his pulse throbbed in his temples painfully. The hard lump in his throat seemed to widen, making him choke. His tears, though, did not come, and after a while he could think more clearly. One last time he turned before he stepped through the big wrought-iron gate into the noisy world again. He dipped into the crowd, staid and anonymous among the people, often invisible. In the shadows.

xXx

I hope you enjoyed my beginning and reviews are appreciate :)


	2. The winter's breeze

Here I'm back with the first chapter. Sorry it took so long, but there were a few discussions about this and the next chapters. Also I'm working on an excavation at the moment. So there wasn't and isn't much time to write, but next month there should be some more time to write :) I hope you'll enjoy this chapter and look forward to read more. Reviews are always appreciated :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing, but I really love to play with them

Like always I would like to thank my three 'Ws' – Helen, Michaela and especially Andrea for helping so much. Also alienstar07 for adding commas in, altering either the tense of words or the word itself, adding or changing words. Thank you so much ^^

Last but not least, all the people who reviewed the story, put it on their alarm or favourite . Thanks, thanks, thanks!!!

xXx

**Chapter 1 - 'The Winter's Breeze'**

"The winter's breeze,

Clears the brush of the leaves,

And raging storm winds sigh,

On the mountain's side,

Where the lark used to rise,

Owls and ravens now cry."

Franz Grillparzer - "The winter's breeze"**

xXx

Eira. She was a child like any other. Only she sat on her bed in the evening, totally still, for a long time. Lost in her thoughts. She let her shoulders sag and remained motionless. Tired eyes stared at the sun-bleached carpet in front of the bed. Slowly her gaze wandered along the walls, then to the ground before going back to the walls. The room was tiny in comparison to her old one in Cardiff. Outside it was dark. Thick snowflakes were falling, leaving traces on her frosted window. The houses, cars, and street lights vanished under the whirling white snow. The only things that remained in view were the crowns of the trees, looming up like creepy shadows in front of her window.

Her memory was stirred by different scents, sounds, and feelings that she couldn't classify. They washed over her before leaving her behind, sad and brooding. Her body felt tired and her only wish was to sleep. But Eira was afraid. Afraid of the dreams. What if she only had to shut her eyes as hard as possible for everything would turn back to normal? Lisa would be still the woman they knew: beautiful, kind and friendly. Her father would be happy and the pain would fade away. If she only needed to stretch her arms out for everything to be okay.

Suddenly, unable to bear the pain and loneliness for a moment longer, she jumped down from her bed. With her teddy Nerys, she walked through the narrow hallway to her father in the living room. She didn't like the new apartment in the new city; it was too small, too loud, and too dark. There were shadows in the corners and whispers on the stairs. The paint flaked off the walls. Often she played in her room. Alone. In the street, there were other children, but they didn't want to play with Eira. They said that she was odd. Eira knew that she was strange. Sometimes, she couldn't remember what she had done more than an hour or a day before. Whenever this happened, her father would always become very worried. She could sense his angst like it was her own and when he asked what happened, she couldn't answer.

When Eira entered the living room she crawled onto the couch and cuddled up to her father, who gently kissed her forehead. Actually, she should have stayed in bed for more than an hour, but, despite her fatigue, she was restless. Eira looked up into the blue eyes of her father, pleading for a story to be read by him. A small smile appeared on his tired face. She was worried. Her father had a fever and could hardly breathe. Eira knew that his whole body, especially his chest, ached when he was coughing. That was not good.

"If you promise you'll really sleep!" he agreed.

The little girl nodded her head earnestly, but then she began to laugh. She really liked to look in at the face of her father. It was more distinctive and much wider than hers. His voice was so soothing, always full of love, and she adored his Welsh accent.

"Hurry up, sweetheart. Otherwise Nerys will be asleep before you even get into bed."

Eira nodded eagerly and ran quickly back to her room. Which should she take? That one? No, she had heard it often. Maybe the new one?

Somebody knocked at the door. It was probably Kesuke, wanting to bring them one of his homemade soups. Eira heard her father put his glass on the table and switch on the light in the hallway. Then he opened the door. A cold draft blew into the apartment.

"Look out, little one." Eira lifted her head. Who was that?

"Are you Mr. Ianto Jones?" asked the visitor.

Eira looked out of her room and saw a handsome, tall man in the door. Snowflakes melted on his thick brown hair.

"I'm sorry. I don't know who you mean. And you are…?"

"Jervis," he said with a cold smile that reminded Eira of a predator. Then he moved his left hand out of his pocket. A weapon was aimed at the chest of her father.

"Don't force me to use it. You better go back into your apartment."

Her father stood still.

"I said: in there," growled the man.

With the gun, he pushed her father into the hallway and quickly shut the door. The young girl was paralyzed with fear and her brain tried to blank out the fright.

"Damn it! What do you want?" the Welshman asked.

Eira wanted to open her mouth to give her fearful words and warn him, but she couldn't. The smile disappeared and Jervis' mouth became a thin, hard line.

"I ask the questions. Now give me your mobile phone and move along the corridor."

Ianto reached for his phone on the dresser and gave it to the man. Then he approached to the Welshman and looked him over with greedy eyes. It made Eira feel sick. The right hand of the stranger brushed roughly across the lips of her father before it travelled down.

"Very pretty."

She saw Ianto jump. For Eira, it was impossible to understand what had happened when her father suddenly whirled around, grabbed an umbrella from the stand and slammed it against Jervis' head. The man swayed. Ianto ran along the corridor. She knew his cold had weakened him so her fears were confirmed when Jervis caught him at the entrance to the living room. Hearing the sickening thud of her father's skull hitting the wall, Eira winced and ducked deeper in the shadows. Peeking out of her hideaway, she discovered her father motionless on the floor.

Without thinking, Eira attacked the man, but at the age of six she was too small to put him down. Pain flared up in her arm and her vision blurred. Her legs buckled under her and she fell to her knees. Eira gasped when rough hands grabbed her waist, pulling her away from her father. She started shaking.

'No, he has found us! No way out.' She thought.

Fear crept up to her spine and tears welled up in her eyes. Eira wanted to be with her father. 'No! No!' was all she could think.

"Stop! Leave her alone," a weak voice demanded. Jervis turned around and started to laugh.

Eira saw a shadow glide along on the ground. _Why don't they see it? Dad has to see it, feel the threat._ Then she felt herself being pushed into the little storage room. The door banged behind her.

Darkness.

Pain.

Screams.

She didn't even notice they were her own.

xXx

Icy wind blew around her, the arctic air biting her face, the stings feeling like needles tormenting her mercilessly. Nevertheless, she struggled unswervingly through the thick snow flurry. The snow crunched under her shoes and snowflakes whirled in her direction. She didn't know if she really could find it, but every year since her death, she visited the grave of her mother. Under the high trees everything was dark and blue. Otherwise it was bright and white outside. The treetops groaned under the weight.

She remembered a few hours earlier when her father was mad at her, her stepmother who had tried to intervene and her little brother who stood frightened in the doorway. When she arrived at the tombstone, she wiped away the freshly fallen snow from it.

"Hi, Mum. I'm back again."

For almost an hour, the young woman stood there and told her mother about everything that had happened during the last year.

"I must leave now, but I promise I will come again."

Carefully, Rhian moved her frozen limbs. It wasn't fair that her mother had died at the age of only 32. The cancer had eaten up the last two years of her life. Her mother fought hard, but in the end she had lost and left her daughter behind. Father and daughter had never got along well with each other and throughout the years, everything became worse. Especially on her birthday or holidays, Rhian missed her mother badly and sometimes it was difficult for the young woman to understand that her mother wasn't there any longer. On her way back into the noisy world, she walked past some trees which looked friendlier with their dresses of snow. Otherwise, they looked like skeletons and reminded her even more of death. She shook her head to remove the snow. With that, her bun undid itself and thick curly black-brown hair fell onto her shoulders. For a moment, the blue eyes rested on a lonely bird. One problem was her loneliness. The second one: herself. 19 years old, height: 1.64 m and rounded in the right places, as her stepmother said. Furthermore, she was always guarded, so she was described by a lot of people as arrogant or odd. Often she was lonely. Only two people, her friends called Mariella and Matthias, were close. Her father made her life even harder by shouting at her every day.

On her way home, she came past a small and frozen lake. In the afternoon the kids had fun and played hockey. Rhian waited for the laughs, but there were only screams. Breathing hard, she climbed to the top of the hill and then the young woman saw what had happened. Apparently, the lake was not completely frozen up, as there seemed to be thin sections. Otherwise, she couldn't explain why a rescue party was trying desperately to save a boy who was up to his neck in the icy cold water. He was weak. Over and over again, he sank underwater.

Rhian stood there, frozen. What should she do? Step in? Yes, perhaps she should do it.

A few seconds later, an older woman walked on the ice. Her hair wasn't too definite a colour, because the light changed constantly. One time it was golden brown, then a reddish-blonde, then it was maroon or white. Her face was timeless. It was oval, and she had freckles on her nose and long eyelashes. Her skin shimmered like marble. When she had lain down her clothes the woman climbed into the water. It did not seem to matter a great deal for her. She wrapped the boy in her arms. Every time he was in danger of drowning, the woman held him. Rhian saw the lips of the woman moving and slowly the boy relaxed. She lifted him up and the boy grabbed forward and then he was a bit out of the water, but it was enough so that one of the rescuers was able to take him. He was wrapped in blankets and carried to an ambulance

Only then, the woman came out of the water, put on her clothes and went into the direction of Rhian. Neither the rescue party nor the gapers seemed to notice the strange woman. She got to the top of the hill and arrived beside Rhian, who was watching the scene.

"Rhian," she spoke softly and smiled before she hugged her.

The woman smelled of snow, wind and miracle. Llwella. She lifted her knitted hat and let her hand run through the still damp, soft hair.

"I can't stay any longer, but you know if you call me, I will come. Always!"

With these words Llwella turned around and where a woman, who could barely be seen by Rhian, had been a minute earlier, there was now nothing. The young woman shook her head and walked away without turning around one last time. If she had, she would have noticed a raven. His black coat shone in the last light of the weak sun. For only a moment, the figure seemed to float between an animal and a woman. On a sigh of the wind, wings took to the skies.

xXx

I hope you enjoyed this chapter and reviews are always welcome ;)

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** die deutsche Originalversion von "The winter's breeze":

„Des Winters Hauch" von Franz Grillparzer

„Des Winters Hauch

entblättert den Strauch,

und wütende Sturmwinde heulen;

an des Hügels Hang,

wo die Lerche sonst sang,

erkrächzen nun Raben und Eulen."


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